


Before 9X16: Crowley's Perspective

by Ace_Of_Spades_2014



Series: Crowley's Attraction Towards  A Green-Eyed Hunter [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crowley on Human Blood, One-Sided Attraction, Season 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8670700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ace_Of_Spades_2014/pseuds/Ace_Of_Spades_2014





	

Everything was more intense than it ever had been. Colors seemed brighter...warmer. The light radiating from the lamps set on the bedside table were welcoming, casting a nice glow about the bedroom. Greater than that light, was the light that was breaking through the closed curtains, trying its hardest to peek through and cast golden rays of sunshine across the floor. The bed was soft, and the comforter that he laid on was addicting, as were the pillows that he was propped up against. 

For weeks, or maybe it was months, Crowley had been on a steady dose of human blood. After getting away from the Winchesters, he had thought he would be fine, but the second he stepped away from the Squirrel he had lost himself in the sensation again. There was no helping it. Demons weren’t known for their restraint or abstinence from what they desired, and after that night in the barn, Crowley desired human blood more than anything.

So here he was, weeks (or maybe it was months) into supposedly looking for the First Blade, in a classy hotel room with a voluptuous vixen waiting on him hand and foot, and a still breathing human hung up somewhere waiting for his blood to be drawn for the King. 

“Can I get anything for you, My King?” The woman that had been keeping him satisfied in all manner of speaking asked from the doorway. She leaned against the frame seductively, but all Crowley managed to do was smirk. 

“Glass of Craig, my dear.” Though she had been waiting on him like a faithful and obedient puppy, he couldn’t remember her name. Through the haze that the human blood put him through, it was hard enough to remember what he was supposed to be doing half of the time.

“Of course my King. I’ll have to go get more.” She smiled, winked, and sashayed away. It was a testimony to how out of it the demon was that he hadn’t even bothered to conjure the glass himself, or why she wouldn’t do so. 

Instead, all that he thought about was how humans managed to get anything done when all of their senses were this intense. Had it really been so long for himself that he hadn’t remembered what it felt like to be human? What it felt like to indulge in sleeping? In cuddling up with a good scotch and a cheesy soap opera, in nothing but a warm and fuzzy robe.

In addition to the senses themselves, there were all the feelings and the random thoughts, and the aching chest. That part he had tried to ignore as best as he could, despite craving it all the same. It was one thing to enjoy the world for all that it was, but it was quite another to start to get addicted to the human emotions that were gradually piling up inside him. 

There were some days that guilt would begin to fester. Those days were the worst, and he would try to drown them out by the distraction of his beautiful servant in his bed, but it never worked for long. In the end, images of his past wrongs would start to flit through his mind and he’d cringe at all that he had done. 

Then were there days, a little less annoying, where he was lonely and depressed. Again, he tried to distract himself from this emotions by using the all too willing servant by his side, but she was never enough. Even while he was underneath him, the loneliness would build, and the hole that he could feel in his dead heart would grow. Because, as much as his still demon-soul growled against, she wasn’t the one that could fill that hole. No, there was someone out there that Crowley wanted to warm his bed, or at the very least, keep him company, and until it was that person that he stood beside, the lonely and depressed feeling that would overcome him would continue to do so. 

What made that specific emotion hard to deal with, almost as much as the guilt, was that Crowley knew exactly who it was that he subconsciously wanted to fill that emptiness. Hell, half of the time his conscious mind wanted that person. Dean Winchester.

They hadn’t left on the greatest of terms, of course. The hunter made a habit of never allowing Crowley the chance of getting away from him without threatening him of bodily harm. This last time, though, seemed heavier than the other times. Seemed more personal than all the other times, fueled by something more than just rage at him for being a demon. Or maybe it was the same type of threat that the hunter always gave, and the only difference was how Crowley processed it. 

Dean. The magnificent hunter that had caught the demon’s attention, in all aspects of the word, long before human blood had ever entered his system. The Winchesters had always interested Crowley, especially once he had gained himself the rightful title of King of Hell; the eldest Winchester more so than the younger. The interest had started off as an understanding of what they capable of. If anyone could destroy Lucifer's chance of taking over Hell and Earth, it would be them, he had correctly assumed. Then, when the crown so obviously belonged to him, that beneficial partnership that he had briefly established had turned to wise wariness. He knew that sooner or later they would be after him, and so he kept them at a distance, made them play to his tune, and never once underestimated their strength, determination, or the ability to kill him just as well as they had killed other demons before him. 

In the midst of the acknowledgement and fear of Dean Winchester, however, had always been the acceptance that the elder Winchester was quite the treasure. His body was built for sin, as proven by the young man’s own chosen activities. He was a strange blend of strength and fragility, of wisdom and foolishness, careful calculation and reckless behavior. Hell-bond, and heaven-saved, this was a man that was alluring to all sides of the supernatural order due to the brilliance of his soul and wildness of spirit. Just as much of a saint as he was a sinner. 

A while ago, those attributes of the hunter had made him a prize to be won sooner or later...and Crowley had always intended to win that prize. After everything else calmed down, he had always planned to cause some sort of trouble between the brothers, or possibly between the Squirrel and his pet angel, in which Crowley himself would be the solution. He’d offer a deal with the hunter, not for his soul, but for something that Dean would be willing to give (if not grudgingly and with an obnoxious fight). Playing on the hunter’s need to be the marty, Crowley would have had him exactly where he wanted him...for himself.

With human blood flowing through his veins now, those well-thought out plans that Crowley had been willing to wait for so patiently to put into motion, were now put on an indefinite pause. It wasn’t just the idea of having the hunter for himself, of winning a prize that no one else would have been able to achieve. No. It was more than that now. Now Crowley wanted the hunter for the simple desire of having the hunter’s companionship. 

With a disgusted thought towards himself, Crowley admitted that even being in the same breathing space as the hunter would appease him now. Just hearing his sarcastic comments or false bravado would send metaphorical shivers down his spine. 

Not able to control himself entirely, he reached for his phone from the bedside table. Pressing down on one, he called the hunter that refused to leave his mind. When he pressed the phone to his ear, though, he wasn’t sure what he could exactly say to the hunter, and all that came forth was a babble of incoherent words. Even as he spoke them, too drunk off of human blood to correct himself, he knew that he was being pathetic. 

If anything, though, the random voicemail left would gain the hunter’s attention. It probably wouldn’t take long for him to be on his way. And soon, Crowley scoffed in pleasure, the hunter would be in the same breathing space as him and everything would be even more intense than they already were. 


End file.
